Lor, Lor, how it all come back ter me! Ef de
Lawd don' bress de pa'na'ship twix' you two gyurls den I des dun beat."
Regardless of flour the two little bakers stood before Aun' Sheba with
arms around each other while she indulged in reminiscences, then Ella,
dashing away the tears that were gathering again, said brusquely, "The new
hand will have to be boss if we go on this way. Aun' Sheba, we haven't got
a blessed thing ready to put in your basket."
"Many han's make light wuck," said the old woman sententiously. "I come
yere arly dis mawnin' to gib Missy Mara a lif' kase she's been lookin'
po'ly an' I hab her on my min' anxious-like. But now, wid a larfin',
sunshiny little ting like you aroun', Missy Ella, she'll soon be as peart
as a cricket. Vilet, chile, jes wait on me an' han' me tings, an' dese two
baskets'll be filled in de quickest jiffy you eber see."
And so it turned out. Aunt Sheba was a veteran in the field. Flour, sugar
and spices seemed to recognize her power and to come together as if she
conjured. The stove was fed like the furnace of Nebuchadnezzar, and the
girls' faces suggested peonies as the cake grew light and brown.
Mrs. Hunter, having finished her morning duties, entered at last and
looked with doubtful, troubled eyes upon the scene. Ella and Aun' Sheba's
mirthful talk ceased, while little Vilet regarded the tall, gray-haired
woman with awe.
"Well, times _have_ changed," said the lady, with a sort of groan.
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